Women on the Home Front (96 page)

‘It's up to you what you do, Chris …'

He suddenly got up and, taking her hand, pulled her onto her feet. ‘There's a pond down here with a few fish in it, come and have a look.' He screwed up the paper in his fist, stuffed it into a pocket, and set off.

‘We've got to get away from here.' Noreen Murphy bounced the baby on her hip in an attempt to stop Rosie's coughing. ‘Are you listening to me, Kieran?' she asked plaintively. ‘I said we should get away from here now … this week. Rosie's chest is rattling, can't you hear it?' She dropped a kiss on the baby's soft dark curls. ‘It's too damp and dirty in this place …'

‘I heard you before, woman!'

‘Well, what have you to say about any of it?' she asked in despair. ‘I talk and talk. What do you say?'

‘We'll move when I've money enough to get somewhere decent.' He continued climbing out of his dirty work clothes and took them to the window to shake the worst of the muck from them into the street. ‘I'll not keep moving us from one dump to the next.' He sent that over his shoulder at her. ‘It'll be a good room next time, Noreen, promise you, it will. I just need to keep working and saving and in a month or two …'

‘We need somewhere clean
now
. I want to go away from here
now
.' She spun on the spot to look about at her depressing home. ‘It's no place for young children.' Noreen lay the baby down on a filthy mattress then drew the tot, clutching at her knees, towards the iron bedstead and sat her down on it too. She opened a packet of biscuits and gave Kathleen a custard cream to chew on.

‘We'll go back to Ireland then, shall we?' Kieran suggested softly.

‘If only we could …' Noreen sighed. ‘We came here to escape one lot of troubles but what have we got in its place?' She looked around at her squalid surroundings.

Kieran walked over in his underclothes to embrace his wife. ‘We're better off here, you know we are.'

‘You're in with bad men, Kieran.' Noreen shrugged off her husband's comfort and started pacing to and fro. It was a dull summer day and the recent rain had permeated the atmosphere with the odour of mildewed mortar. Noreen rubbed her bare arms with her palms as she stared at her husband's back. ‘I've heard them talking, you know. They're always planning on setting about Christopher and his men working along the street.'

Kieran swung around and gave her a fierce look. ‘You keep yourself to yourself, you hear me, Noreen? I'm doing just that. I do my work and then I come home. We'll not be taking sides or interfering in any feuds between people. We've had enough of that back in Ireland. I'm sick to me stomach of fighting and killing.'

‘You'd be better off at the labour exchange than getting in with such as O'Connor. Has he paid you all of your wages yet?'

A brusque shake of the head was Noreen's answer.

In response she went to the child sitting on the bed and took the packet of custard creams from her, making Kathleen whimper. She lobbed it her husband's way. ‘There's your supper then, 'cos I'm not going back to that shop and begging for more credit until Rosie needs linctus.'

‘I'll take her to the doctor's surgery for medicine.'

‘You will not,' Noreen said, narrowing her eyes. ‘You know as well as I do that the surgery will want to know our address. You know too what will happen when the authorities find out our home is a slum waiting to be pulled down.' Noreen rushed over to Kieran and grabbed his chin forcing him to look at her. ‘They'll take our girls away if they find out we're living in such conditions as aren't fit for adults let alone little children.'

Kieran wrenched free of his wife's pinching fingers. But he had nothing to say because he realised Noreen's fears were valid.

‘Shush that noise now, Kathleen,' Noreen told the little girl, who was still grizzling. Kathleen contented herself with sucking her sugary fingers to ease her hunger.

Kieran came towards his elder daughter, holding out a biscuit. ‘Look what Daddy has for you. Good girl,' he crooned, stroking her long dark hair and sitting down beside her. ‘I'll have me money off O'Connor tomorrow, or tell him I'll not work longer for him.'

‘And what if he tells you to whistle for your wages? What will you do then, Kieran?'

‘Give over about it, woman!'

‘I'm getting work,' Noreen said abruptly. ‘I can get a job cleaning again. The lady in Tufnell Park said I could go back any time …'

‘You will not.'

‘I will …'

‘And who will look after Rosie and Kathleen?'

‘You. You're just along the street working, are you not? And if O'Connor won't pay up you can stop home with the little ones for it's pointless getting calluses and covered in muck for no good reason.'

‘I'll do no such thing!' Kieran looked outraged. ‘You're the girls' mother and you'll care for them as you should.'

‘And you're the girls' father and my husband and you'll care for
us
as you should, or I'll take on the job of it.'

Kieran jumped to his feet, making Noreen skitter backwards in alarm. But he grabbed up his dirty work clothes and pulled them on again before storming out.

‘You told us ages ago the guvnor was gonna sort things out with them didicois.' Vic had stuck his head around the van's open back door to hiss at Chris. ‘We've all had enough of them taking the piss out of us all day long.'

‘Guvnor
is
sorting it out,' Chris snapped back. He didn't bother turning around and continued sorting through the tools in the back of the van. ‘Just get on with yer work.'

‘O'Connor offered me a job last night when I was packing up to go home. Laughed in me face about Stevie's accident and said nobody in their right mind 'ud go up a worm-eaten old ladder. Said your old man should be put out to graze …'

Chris sent him a sideways glare. He knew Vic wasn't lying about O'Connor's spite; he also knew his workmate was intentionally trying to wind him up by recounting it all, especially the bit about his father. Vic, Billy and Ted were itching for another showdown with the pikeys and Chris could understand why: never a day went by that they didn't make it their business to cause some problems for Wild Brothers to prevent them working.

Now bad feeling was turning inwards and Chris realised it was exactly what O'Connor wanted: he'd be happy to have them sniping at each other, and save him the job of doing it.

‘Did you hear what I said?' Vic demanded. ‘O'Connor offered me a job with his crew.'

‘Well, you takin' him up on it?'

‘'Course I bleedin' ain't!'

‘Well, what yer telling me about it for?' Chris ejected through his teeth. ‘If you change yer mind, let me know and I'll have me uncle make up your cards for Friday.' He snapped his head at the house. ‘Now get back to work, fer fuck's sake; we're falling right behind.'

Vic stuck two fingers up at a navvy who'd been catcalling at them while picking through salvage he'd dragged out of a house along the road.

Chris jumped off the back of the van and glanced after Vic. He noticed that Ted and Billy were ambling towards him, no doubt for a confab. Chris was aware that the other two often gave Vic bullets to fire because they hadn't got the guts to shoot their mouths off themselves.

‘Forget the mother's meeting!' he yelled sarcastically at them. ‘Get on with stripping out that back room on the top floor.'

Chris watched until they'd dispersed then turned and carried on unloading equipment from the back of the van onto the pavement. He didn't glimpse O'Connor approaching until he was just a yard or two away. Chris swung towards him, weighing a hammer in his hand. The mood he was in following his run-in with Vic, he was tempted to use it.

O'Connor held out his hands in a gesture of appeal. ‘No need for any o' that, son,' he drawled, all Irish blarney. ‘Got a few problems with your lads, I see.' He shook his shaggy head in mock sympathy. ‘Being the ganger is not all it's cracked up to be now, is it? I know that alright, so I do. I expect you're after wanting your pa back to deal with them; he had a bit more authority about him now, didn't he?'

‘You got anything interesting to say, or you just gonna stand there talking crap?' Chris continued tapping the metal hammerhead against an open palm.

‘It
was
your dad, wasn't it, who got hurt in that fall? Just come over to ask how he's doing.' O'Connor's concern was as fake as his tobacco-stained smile.

‘He's doing fine, so now you know, you can piss off.'

‘Aw … don't be like that when I've come to offer you a bit of help.' Declan swiped a hand about the bristle on his chin, his eyes foxy. ‘You'll be one short for a while longer then?'

‘You're not gonna ask fer 'is job are you?' Chris enquired dryly.

O'Connor grunted a laugh. ‘Not me … no … no … but now I've taken on Murphy I've got a fellow spare I can let you have at a cheap rate. He'll take charge, 'cos you haven't got it in you, have you now, to do a man's work. You're still a wee boy, so y'are …'

‘If you don't fuck off, O'Connor …' Chris muttered threateningly.

O'Connor bared his yellow teeth in a howl of laughter. ‘What you gonna do about it, Sonny Jim?' He nodded at the house. ‘Now, why don't you all pack up and go, and let a real team take over and do a proper job? Tell you what … I'll give you a little something to make it worth your while …' He pulled a pound note out of his pocket and waved it mockingly. ‘Here … buy sweeties …'

‘What's he saying?'

Vic had stormed out of the house with Ted and Billy close behind.

As much as Chris would have liked to land one on the Irishman he knew that he shouldn't because starting a ruckus was just what O'Connor wanted. He used the same stupid stuff to taunt them with day in, day out, and Chris had learned to let it wash over him.

‘You taking up me offer of a job now?' O'Connor riled Vic, deliberately grabbing his shoulder in a vicious pinch to spin him around.

Vic swung a right hook at his jaw but O'Connor had anticipated that. He ducked, jabbing a meaty fist hard in Vic's solar plexus, making him fold over with a heavy grunt. It was the signal for his crew to tumble out of the house along the road and come running. Only Kieran Murphy stayed where he was. He shook his head and disappeared back inside the house where he'd been working.

‘Luvly,' Chris heard Billy mutter. ‘I'm just about fuckin' ready fer ‘em.' He picked up one of the nail bars that Chris had flung onto the ground earlier and took a run and a swing at the closest navvy.

Chris swore under his breath in exasperation but, as O'Connor swiped a shovel and raised his arms high with the intention of putting it over Vic's head, he nipped in and kneed him in the groin. He grabbed at the falling shovel before it crowned him, hurling it aside. Vic was still winded and was having difficulty straightening up enough to turn and deal with the Paddy who'd just jumped on his back. But there were no Queensberry rules here, and as O'Connor staggered, Chris had no qualms about jerking his knee up viciously again, making him shriek in pain. Knuckles raked his cheek and Chris swiftly grabbed his opponent's overalls to haul him forward and nut him before shoving him backwards.

The only way to calm the Micks down was to get their boss to give them the order; Chris had learned that over the months. But he didn't reckon O'Connor was now in any mood to call his boys off. Right now he was clutching his throbbing balls, ambling in a knock-kneed circle, moaning out curses. Chris swung a foot hard at his thick legs, sending him reeling off balance. His second swipe sent the Irishman crashing over. As soon as he was on the ground Chris pounced, planting a boot firmly on his neck.

‘Tell them to back off.' He ground his heel harder against O'Connor's Adam's apple. ‘Tell them, you Irish bastard, or Vic's gonna keep stamping on yer knackers while I throttle you.'

O'Connor started, waving his arms frantically about and bubbling at the mouth.

‘Got the message, have you?' Chris bawled at the Irish gang as they disentangled themselves from their opponents, breathing heavily.

Chris eased his foot off O'Connor's throat. ‘Tell them to fuck off back up the road, 'cos I ain't lettin' you up till they're gone.'

O'Connor rasped out the order, and immediately Ted got in a last sly punch, making one of them totter back on his heels. The remainder of the little crew also retreated, sending venomous looks in their wake.

Chris strolled away from O'Connor and resumed unloading his van while Vic brought his breakfast up into the gutter then, rubbing his sore guts, said he felt much better. His two breathless and bruised colleagues stood with their narrowed eyes fixed on the Irishman who was dragging himself up off the floor.

‘You're a dead man …' O'Connor whispered against the graze on Chris's cheek, his eyes blazing hatred.

‘You first,' Chris returned, giving him a despising look and a dismissive jerk of the head.

When peace had broken out, and his colleagues' banging and crashing could be heard coming from the top floor of the tenement house, Chris turned his thoughts to what Vic had said earlier. He shut the van doors and locked them, a frown on his face. He was also starting to worry that his uncle was taking his time about getting rid of the Micks. When Rob said he'd do something, he did it. His uncle was no pushover and certainly wouldn't be frightened of taking on O'Connor and his crew. He'd grown up hearing tales from his relatives of how Rob Wild had seen off rivals, and yet he was also a canny businessman and doting husband who steered clear of anything too drastic that might upset the authorities, or his wife. Chris knew if O'Connor were still around at the end of the week he'd have to bring up the matter with his uncle and find out what was going on.